


to be alone with you

by ok_thanks



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, M/M, Slow Burn, basically tk gets traded and communication is Hard, kinda idk man, until he comes back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:28:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21690145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ok_thanks/pseuds/ok_thanks
Summary: There’s a lot of places to formally start this story. Like one morning Nolan wakes up and Travis has been traded -No, but before that; Travis’ hands steady around the wheel. His eyes wide, jaw set, mouth tight. The weight of expectation -There’s so many points where it begins. There’s only one point, though, where it ends. Pretend this doesn’t hurt in innumerable ways.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 15
Kudos: 235





	to be alone with you

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because i am fundamentally a mean person and im not sorry. Basically, nonlinear plotline.  
> The title is from to be alone with you by sufjan stevens because we love repressed feelings.  
> "I'd swim across Lake Michigan  
> I'd sell my shoes  
> I'd give my body to be back again  
> / You gave your ghost  
> to be alone with me"
> 
> I also edited this myself so if there's grammatical errors just know i'm tryin my best.

In Nolan’s dream there’s black ice. He’s breathing, just on that side of too heavy. His ribs shake, his head pounds. He skates.

In the dream he’s alive, he’s awake. In the dream he’s crying.

He wakes up and his face is wet, shirt collar and pillow soaked with hot snot and tears. In the dream he was alive and he was breathing, everything looked okay. Everything was like black ice.

In the dream, he’s alone and his head pounds harder. It’s too much, he can’t breathe. He can’t think and he tries, so hard, but he can’t move. His arms are like stones, his feet made of lead. And then the ice cracks. Nolan falls and falls and falls.

In his bedroom his chest shakes and he surrenders to the big, wet tears that rack through his body.

———————

The thing no one ever tells you is how it’ll really feel. People will tell Nolan _it’ll be hard_ and to _fight like hell_. They’re always platitudes and they’re always bullshit.

Nolan isn’t first overall. He isn’t going to cry about it, he isn’t going to throw a fit. But on the edges something blooms, bright and painful and hard to ignore. Nolan wants to be first, wants to be better and faster and happy.

The thought is so real, so sudden that it scares him.

Nolan’s been happy, he’s had that deep pull in his gut when he’s bent over laughing, tears spurting from the corners of his eyes, gasping for breaths with his friends. For a second everything will fade away. He’ll feel happy. A pure, unfiltered happiness. But it never lasts, not really. Not in a significant way at least.

———————

The first time Travis makes him laugh, really laugh, it’s that same feeling. And when Nolan unwinds himself, tries to settle his breathing, their eyes meet. TK’s face is open, as clear as day with adoration, with pride. He’s smiling, Nolan realizes, because of Nolan.

Nolan waits for the come down, that moment when reality settles back in.

It never comes.

  
————————

It was easy back then. Easy to go the two floors down to TK’s apartment and invade his space. He could reach out, without a second thought, shove Travis’ arm and slide a little too close to him on the couch.

Even for the first couple years, it was easy. You were always going to end up together, no matter how many hits TK took, no matter how many practices suffered through with migraines. That’s what Nolan would tell himself.

You’d look back and you could see the warmth of Travis’ smile across the hotel rooms and the thoughtless way he’d grab your tie on game days and knot with deft fingers and teasing smirks. The hundreds of times you sat side by side on one another’s couches, sprawled on someone’s bed without the necessity of speaking.

Now, reaching across those last few inches and smoothing back TK’s runaway hairs seems like the easiest thing in the world. When you put your mouth on his for the first time, soft and eager, you weren’t scared like you are now. You didn’t comprehend all the ways things could turn out.  
Back then, you never imagined being apart, never imagined distance might change how you felt.

————

There’s a lot of places to formally start this story. Like one morning Nolan wakes up and Travis has been traded —

No, but before that; Travis’ hands steady around the wheel. His eyes wide, jaw set, mouth tight. The weight of expectation —

There’s Vancouver. Carter’s wedding and Claude’s judgemental gaze across the dance floor. Scott’s oblivious rambling.

And even earlier than that: the hospital visits and empty hotels rooms and knowing that you dug your own grave. Half of a bottom cabinet next to the stove left empty, because it’s where TK likes to hide cheat food. Where he kept in the apartment before —

If you had to pick a point - just one - it starts in Philadelphia, in the rain. Your rookie season. It starts in the slow crawl of traffic downtown before a game, TK’s offer to pick you up, even when you both know it’s out of the way and he hates the back and forth of the turnpikes.

It starts when —

There’s so many points where it begins. There’s only one point, though, where it ends. Pretend this doesn’t hurt in innumerable ways.

——

It was different then and it’s different now. He always says this word, stressing and unstressing it so often that its shine has worn off. It’s too simple for you, stretching like a fitted sheet shrunk sizes down in the wash. How do you reduce these feelings to a single word? How do you reduce these years to nine letters?

But the words are so frustrated rolling off the tongue: different. He said that to you once, do you remember that?

He said: “Nolan, we’re different. We aren’t like those other guys; we can do this.”

Do you remember that. God, please. Do you remember that?

————

When Travis moved to Colorado, things were different. It’s easier to think of it like this; when Nolan thinks of it as a move the heart strings pulled and snapped from the trade are less readily apparent.

Travis moves to Colorado. Now he wears red a lot. Big deal.

(But it’s not that easy because Nolan is not that naive. He isn’t stupid and he isn’t blind. From the couch, Nolan saw Travis’ face while he paced the kitchen - your kitchen, the two of yours together - and you said you just didn’t see how any of this could work.)

Nolan had already gone through the stages of grief. You both cursed the front office and the coaching staff and then the commentators at NBC sports. You cursed the Penguins and the city of Pittsburgh too, because why not. But then Travis glanced at Nolan in totally sobriety and sighed, because: “but I guess it’s different now. I don’t have to hate them as much.”

That was in the bedroom, with Travis’ head in Nolan’s lap and his hands in his hair. The still nervous double beat of his heart. It was longer now, Travis’ hair, split at the ends and overdue for a trim. But he’d kept it long because Nolan said he liked it that way. He liked the tuft of hair curled under his helmet. And Travis liked what he liked; that’s the kind of disgusting domestic bliss they’d grown into by then.

It wasn’t like the early days anymore, when they moved with a bumbling nervousness. There wasn’t the same eager desperation, as if every time Travis drove them home, one hand migrating to Nolan’s thigh when traffic got slow would be the last time.

Nolan looks at him and everything is compressed. He thinks about their first skate together, the nameless hotel rooms across the country. Every stupid argument over the Xbox and takeout and whose turn it was to drive to practice. And was he too late? Was it really as everyone always said - that by the time you realized when your golden years were, they had already passed.

————

In December, Travis grips the wheel, knuckles split open from the night before. His eyes fall heavy on Nolan and it’s an exact mirror of how it used to be. Nolan is older now and has filled out his frame. He can grow a better beard and can feel the season weighing on him heavier than it used to.

He is older, but no wiser.

“So, you looked,” Travis says, more to himself than Nolan.

“When did you-”

A wounded noise springs from Travis’ throat, his chest, his heart.

“Pats, c’mon.”

Nolan wasn’t brave two years ago. He wasn’t brave when it mattered most. With TK beside him he thinks of how easy it’s been to be weak. He remembers the draft and everyone saying _congratulations_ when they meant _i’m sorry you didn’t go first_ and how easy it was to just nod his head, shake hands and say _thank you, thank you, thank you_ till his tongue was a dead weight in his mouth. The concussions and the migraines and the parties of self pity he’d fling himself into. Travis expectant at his feet, eyes clear and heart on his sleeve.

If he isn’t brave now, Nolan knows he will never get the chance to be brave like this again.

“Trav, when did you get it?”

————

By now, he can hardly remember the first time they met. A group skate at training camp, probably. Maybe a team building activity. He probably shook TK’s hand and stammered out something uncomfortably formal, something rehearsed and ready to be recycled over and over again that week.

Hi. I’m Nolan. Nice to meet you. A handshake or a one armed hug. Some light chit chat of mutual friends. A wry smile from a few guys and a pat on the back from the captain.

It seems impossible now that he’d forget meeting Travis for the first time. But -- how do you know that you are living a moment which will change you forever? How do you know that the slide of his hand in yours as you awkwardly shake hello will stay with your forever? Latent or not, that moment defined something bigger than a fleeting greeting and a noncommittal response.

How do you know that this boy is different from the rest -- that Travis is different from the rest?

————

Travis moves everything out of the apartment with a biting efficiency. He takes the framed first goal puck on the wall, the magnets off the fridge, even the vase from the end table Nolan is pretty sure Madison bought him.

In two hours it’s like he never even lived there.

All that’s left of Travis is beat-up box, kicked into the corner of the spare closet, his leftovers in the fridge, and Nolan’s big, broken heart.

————

Twenty-one is too old to have a crush on your best friend. Nolan tells himself this in the locker room after they beat the Leafs.

He’s in a suit, still on injured-reserve. But, Travis —

Nolan is looking at him, and not for the first time tonight, finds Travis looking back. He flushes, nervously. And really, it’s so stupid. He’s 21, he can’t have a _crush_ on TK. That’s disgusting. TK has the sleeves of his jersey taped to his pads so they don’t slip down and it’s the stupid thing Nolan’s ever seen and he’s _endeared_.

It is, hand to god, disgusting.

But Travis has the helmet on and he’s bragging something loud and obnoxious to G, the whole room tracking his movements in one way or another, and Nolan is happy. He hasn’t played in almost thirty games and it’s horrible, but for the first time all season it feels okay.

Nolan knows tonight Travis will drive them both home, then probably bully him into having some beers and playing Xbox until going the two flights back his own apartment feels too laborious. And in the morning Travis will probably burn the eggs and make Nolan buy him a breakfast sandwich from the coffee shop they both like (the one with the good iced coffee, not the horrible, overly flavored shit only Travis seems to enjoy) and they’ll both go to practice.

And Nolan’s weirdly happy about, won’t stop grinning up at TK as he makes his rounds across the locker room.

“You’re kinda freaking me out, man.”

Travis and him are back at TK’s apartment. Nolan’s letting Travis play on single player because the other remote is dead, and Travis doesn’t have extra batteries because he’s a monster. And they could just go to Nolan’s apartment instead but -- he’s comfortable like this, wrapped up next to Travis.

Nolan is maybe being weird. He’s having a moment, or whatever. TK has no right to judge him, anyways.

“Just thinking.”

TK snorts, “You know how to do that?” It’s like, so stupid. Not even a good or creative response. Nolan just shrugs, letting TK eye him up from across the couch.

They both watch Travis die on screen. His fingers hover over the button to restart the game.

“You gonna tell me what you’re thinking about?”

“Sure.”

“Sure,” Travis mocks. Nolan kicks him in the thigh, ignoring TK’s exaggerated whine.

“Asshole,” he says, but he still brings his legs up to rest in TK’s lap. He pointedly doesn’t think about the dopey grins they’re both sporting

When the remote for the last controller dies, Nolan raises an eyebrow at Travis.

“Don’t give me your bitch face, dude.”

“You’re a mess.”

“Whatever, we can just watch something in my room.”

Travis absolutely has cable in the living room, there’s no reason they have to move, logically, and all. That’d be stupid.

“Sure, let’s go,” Nolan says, following Travis to his room. He never claimed to be smart.

They turn on Twilight and “Oh my god, this movie is horrible,” TV gasps, giddy. “How many times have you seen this?”

“Like, once. Maybe”

“You don’t have to lie to me, man. I accept you for who you are.” TK’s eyes narrow and he’s acting faux serious. The asshole.

“Just because I have sisters, doesn’t mean I’ve seen this movie.”

“Yea, okaaaaay, Patty,” Travis sing songs. Nolan is unbelievably fond of him.

“You kinda look like Jasper, dude,” Travis says after a minute and he definitely deserves the shrug Nolan gives him.

“Imagine if you were a vampire, I can see it.”

Travis is an idiot; Nolan really loves him.

“I really hate you,” Nolan says.

“You really don’t.”

There’s nothing Nolan can think about other than stretching his body across those last few inches and just taking. The soft crinkle of Travis’ smile makes his think it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“Take a picture, Pats, it’ll last longer.”

Nolan rolls his eyes and throws caution out the window, leans in the few inches and kisses Travis the way he’s been dying to for months.

(Travis’ lips are soft, his mouth warm and beautiful. Nolan feels intoxicated touching him, finally reaching out to brush a thumb across Travis’ cheek. From this close, Nolan can see the length of TK’s lashes as they flutter close. His breath is coming in soft pants, a sweet sigh rolling off his tongue.

Nolan waits for the come down again. When it never comes, he pulls TK back in.)

That’s the beginning, formally.

————

Travis doesn’t call from Denver, but what did he expect? Nolan’s the one who closed that door, the one who gave up.

For a second he kids himself and wonders if Travis has changed his number. But no - guys on the team chatter about him as Nolan pretend not to hear, ears burning red the entire time. TK sent me this. TK sent me that. Wasn’t that funny? What did he reply?

They’re residual ties. It’s natural. He was he here before Nolan, and for what it’s worth, he expected Travis to be here after him. It’s TK.

Because Nolan gets it; you get it. Travis is different. The feeling that encompasses him when he’s around is as addicting as any drug. The ease of his smile and the cadence of his laugh is intoxicating. It’s better than any bar in Philly’s happy hour deals, better than the cut of skates of fresh ice, between than the pump of adrenaline in the overtime wrister.

Nolan start to dial every so often.

It’s too easy to glide his fingers across the keypad, muscles moving purely from memory. There’s a comfort in dialing the number, holding on to something as reflexive as this. He used to call for stupid reasons like to ask him to get more eggs, more batteries for the remotes, to ask him to fill up the car before coming home. To say something short and stupid like what was the name of that actor from the movie the other night, the one with all the hair.

And: does Travis want him to switch loads of laundry.

And: I just saw this really ugly dog on the sidewalk downtown and it kinda looked like you (that one had made Travis laugh, so bright and happy. Nolan was too busy smiling, proud of himself, to remember the snarky reply).

Sometimes he called for no reason, just to hear Travis’ voice crackle with static, as if he was somewhere far away, as if he wasn’t coming back. And Nolan would play it off - God, why did he do that? Why did he pretend to need a reason to call.

Nolan was cellophane. Travis saw right through him every time, but he never hung up. He never laughed at Nolan, not in a mean way at least. In the teasing, soft tone reserved only for Nolan.

He doesn’t punch dial this time. Nolan goes home and runs on the treadmill till his knees wobble in feeble protest.

Claude thinks it’s pathetic, he tells Nolan so explicitly. Several times.

Every conversation begins with Claude’s furrowed brows and a stern, fatherly hand on Nolan’s shoulder.

“Colorado really isn’t that far,” Claude says and Nolan’s eyes shut tight. His teeth grind.  
“It’s not about that,” Nolan stresses. But what is it about if not that?

“I’m fine.”

“You’re fine?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

Claude laughs, a pitying tone that makes Nolan want to shrink in on himself, even at 25. “You are the opposite of fine, Patty. You looked like you were gonna punch the lights out of the kid that took TK’s stall.”

And okay, maybe that’s true, but -

Nolan stops himself. Because he keeps catching himself like this, looking at a situation and waiting for whatever dumb joke TK would make to diffuse it, to drag a smile out of Nolan.

It’s like a phantom limb. Nolan will round a corner in the apartment and expect to see Travis on the couch or frantically fanning the fire alarm because he dropped a piece of angel hair in the burner (again). He’ll come and look at the empty coffee table and _think no keys. TK’s out_ before he remembers.

And then the feedback loop of self pity starts all over again.

————————

The truth is, Nolan never didn’t like Travis. The way TK tells it, hands moving animatedly, “Patty couldn’t stand me. He was so dramatic. I swear he’d purposely sit at opposite ends of the table during team meals.” Nolan blushes.

They’re in Winnipeg doing a puzzle with Nolan’s parents (because as much as he hates to admit it, Travis gives good parent) and his sisters and Travis are competing by coming up with stories to embarrass Nolan even more.

He’s pretty sure his cheeks haven’t been a normal color in a solid thirty minutes.

(It wasn’t intentional, brining Travis home like this. At the end of the season, Nolan brought up how he wanted to look for an apartment in Winnipeg instead of invading his parents space all summer.

And, listen. Nolan doesn’t know anything about apartment shopping. It’s not a secret. He followed Travis to their current building, and he thought it was pretty nice. It made sense to invite TK home with him to look.

It was about real estate quality, is all. TK had, somehow, good taste. It definitely wasn’t about the goofy smile itching across his face when Nolan tried to bring up the idea offhandedly.

So, whatever. He wanted TK to go apartment shopping with him. And then they were in Winnipeg and Nolan wasn’t going to have him stay in a hotel, that’d be ridiculous. )

Nolan tries very hard not to dwell on what this all means, Travis’ fingers sliding a corner piece across his kitchen table he grew up to his mom.

He doesn’t want to think about the overdramatic way Travis packed and unpacked his suitcase seven times before their flight, as if he didn’t keep the same five outfits in rotation at any given point.

He tunes back in as his mom says, “Well that wasn’t very nice, Nolan,” and Travis is really playing this up, hand over the heart like he’s truly offended. It was like, two meals. Max. And Nolan doesn’t even know why Travis remembers this, an opinion he voices.

His sisters don’t even listen to him, they’re wrapped up in TK, both of them giggling like he’s the funniest person they’ve ever met. It might be Nolan’s worst nightmare.

TK’s telling them, in vivid detail, how Nolan only said five words to him the first week of training camp. It’d be funny, maybe, if he wasn’t such a shit about it.

“Maybe I was playing hard to get.” Nolan raises an eyebrow.

Travis gives a sleazy smile in return, knocks their knees together. Nolan is only partially annoyed when he sister mimics throwing up across the living room.

He doesn’t even get a reprieve, because his dad is describing in full detail how Nolan was deathly afraid of the Easter bunny growing up, and what the fuck. He thought he had one ally.

It’s not till they’re tangled in Nolan’s too small bed later, a little wine drunk and loose, that he realizes he hasn’t stopped smiling all night. Travis is half on his chest, a hand running lazily over his shoulder and breath coming out softly against Nolan’s neck. It’s not even kind of disgusting. Nolan is fucked.

“I love you,” he says, because he has to.

Travis spent all day with his family, talking about things like the best soil for growing tomatoes in Canadian springs and whether Lana Del Rey will ever make a song better than Video Games and the most economic way to park in downtown Philadelphia.

And he enjoyed it, the little fucker. He sat by Nolan all day just answering thoughtfully, asking his mom what kind of fertilizer she used, because his brother actually used to date this girl who was into gardening so he knows some things. And he thinks renting a spot long term, but meter isn’t bad depending on what you’re doing, and that Blue Jeans has always been better than Video Games, so probably, yes, Lana will do better. And Nolan loves him. He loves him so much it scares him a little bit.

Travis is still for a moment after, no doubt listening to Nolan’s heart beating double time.

“I know,” he says finally, softly. No cockiness, no smug retort.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” TK’s looking up at him now, eyes big and dopey, voice low and mimicking.

“Good talk,” Nolan jokes dryly and TK’s grinning ear to ear, pinching Nolan in the side like a maniac.

“I’m rubbing off on you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am. I totally am. And you love it!”

Nolan rolls his eyes, trying to keep his face neutral. He opens his mouth, prepared to tell Travis off, but-

“I love you too, though. So it’s okay.”

“Okay?” Nolan repeats, a little hysterically.

“Oka- Oh my god, this is turning into the Fault in Our Stars.” Nolan laughs. He’s so dumb, and oh my god, help him because he loves it so much.

——————

Travis moves out on a Monday.

He gets traded on a Friday. They do the song and dance, the drinking and the crying and the cursing. It’s the off-season. They were in Philly for the weekend, a wedding. It feels oddly poetic, Nolan thinks, everything starting where it ended.

On Sunday they go to Skate Zone, emptied out more for the summer. Travis wants to do one last skate together, something Nolan is steadily not thinking about. They had met up there, Travis coming from the front office, Nolan coming from home.

The ride over alone is boring, and not for the first time, Nolan realizes how ingrained TK is in his life.

On the ice, Nolan still doesn’t cry. But under the fluorescent lighting of the arena, the coil that’s been twisting in his gut tightens one final time. They spent so many hours here; Nolan used to dream about how smooth the ice was, how it felt as wide as Travis’ steady gaze back at him. But the reflection off the glass is contorting his fantasy, he can no longer see what he once saw so many yearning nights ago.

As they skate lazily around each other Nolan matches Travis’ pace and he knows in his eyes there is no endless question, there is no hopeful mirroring of Travis’ own heart. His eyes aren’t glassy or hurt or poetic. He says to Travis: “I don’t see how any of this could work.”

There’s a forced laughed, TK’s eyes roaming across the planes of his face, silently begging for Nolan to stop the car, swerve them away from the ledge.

“You don’t mean that,” Travis says, voice small. And Nolan hates that, hates the way Travis looks at him now, harrowing eyes and set jaw.

He’s been thinking about this since Friday night. With Travis’ cheek mashed against Nolan’s chest, it felt as if a bomb had dropped right over Nolan’s heart. He looked at the tangled form of their bodies together and the ease with which they fit together. He thought of Colorado, of the snow and the mountains. I don’t see how any of this could work Nolan thought to himself.

It feels futile when Travis adds: “Nol, we’re different.”

Travis is so much stronger than he used to be, so much more compact. There were days when they both used to be so thin, run down from the playoffs, they could stretch themselves together in Travis’ shitty twin bed at home, wasted during the All Star break. Do you remember that?

In the empty rink sound settles so hollowly. Travis breathes in, Nolan breathe out. Two sides to the same coin.

When Nolan gets home Travis is already there, huffing as he shoves his items into boxes.

“You’re being irrational,” Nolan tells him. Because it’s all too much, TK in Colorado is too much. Nolan is weak and scared, and --

“ _I’m_ irrational? That’s rich.”

Nolan watches him pack, helpless to do anything else. Three days ago they were at a wedding, slow dancing with Travis’ head resting on Nolan’s chest. Nolan had looked at him and thought nothing could have been better. Now, he’s watching Travis rip through the bathroom cabinet to find the hair gel he likes.

“You’re unbelievable,” Travis says. He throws a tube of toothpaste in a box, storms to the closet.

Nolan falls asleep on the couch, afraid to go into their bedroom and face what he’s done. He wakes up restless, a crick in his neck and TK standing over him. There’s a bag on his shoulder. A stack of boxes by the kitchen.

His voice is steady when he speaks:

“Nolan, we’re different. We aren’t like those other guys; we can do this.”

In the silence stretched before them, Nolan doesn’t know what to say. He’s seen a lot of TK’s expressions, but never one like this: open and raw and so painfully small.

Nolan doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing at all. When the door slams behind Travis, he slumps down, head in his hands and cries big, hot tears.

——————

Claude retires on a Tuesday. By Thursday, Nolan becomes the 19th captain of the Philadelphia Flyers.

He’s 27. It’s been two years since Travis has been traded, two and a half months since he last saw him. 5 Since they’ve talked.

In the swarm of cameras, Nolan smiles. It’s generic, something he’s become better at over the years. His hair is shorter now, his eyes set tightly. He looks into the flash and knows he should be happy, but -

It’s summer and Nolan’s spent the off-season training, what’s new. But it’s been getting harder. He spent the first summer without TK in Winnipeg sulking on his parent’s couch. He avoided his property, avoided all the ways it reminded him of Travis.

It’s been two years and he knows he needs to get over it, but -

A reporter catches his attention when she says, clear as day, “How do you feel about your old friend Travis Konecny being traded today?”

Nolan throws up in the bathroom of the arena.

——————

After Colorado, Travis is traded to Tampa. It’s the trade deadline and Nolan has spent the season on edge.

Claude is still giving him concerned looks, but it’s getting easier. Nolan’s growing up. He’s taking rookies under his wing, even let one of them move in with him after cracking the roster in December. (He does not think about the pathetic look G gives him for that).

Tampa is good, Nolan guesses. He doesn’t know shit about Florida. He spent all his time in hotel rooms there plating Xbox with Travis, or drinking with Travis, or -- point is, what’s so great about Florida anyway?

Sure there’s probably year round fishing and Travis can be as annoyingly tan as he wants, but Nolan doubts it’s as nice as Philadelphia. He hates the city a little bit for even getting Travis.

Reporters ask him about it. It’s what he expected; everyone knows they were close, knows they were friends. They don’t know how much it’s making Nolan’s skin crawl, making his mouth sour to talk about all this. To talk about Travis.

The Flyers win that night, the game winner a beautiful mess of a goal off Claude’s stick from Nolan’s frantic pass. He only agrees to go out with the team because if he declines another invitation from G and Carter he’s pretty sure they’re going to stage an intervention. Plus, his rookie is going, so like, responsibility and all that.

What Nolan is getting at is, it’s his rookie’s fault. Because they’re at the bar, which this kid isn’t even legally allowed to drink at, and Matt whines to Nolan that he wants a beer. And then another. And then shots, and Nolan is apparently actively breaking laws in this country because he obliges everytime, goes drink for drink with the kid.

And that’s probably his fault because he isn’t 21 anymore, he can’t down drinks like he used to. So when Matt squints up at the TV playing ESPN over the bar, shoves his hand out in front of them and says, unintelligently and without a second thought: “Hey, wasn’t that guy like, your roommate or something.”

Travis is on the screen, smiling shortly with a stiff deep blue jersey around his shoulders. Objectively, he looks handsome. His hair is cropped short now and smoothed back carefully. It’s a bright, closed mouth smile, but it doesn’t meet his eyes, not exactly. Nolan is obsessed with the image, downs the rest of his drink looking at it.

“Or something,” he answers, because Matt can’t be stupid. There’s still photos on the wall, one or two Nolan hasn’t had the heart to take down yet. His sisters ambushed him at the start of the season, pretending they’d never really gotten a proper tour of the city. Nolan pretend not to notice them taking down some of the photos, stashing them in the extra closet he rarely touches.

But there’s still two -- ones he couldn’t bare to take down yet. And Nolan knows Matt’s seen the one in the living room, the picture from G’s wedding. It’s not obvious, not like the one in Nolan’s bedroom, His arm tight around TK’s side, Travis’ face pointed up at him.

They were in Winnipeg, two years ago. It was a couple months after that stupid trip where Nolan said he wanted an apartment. The trip when he told Travis he loved him. When Nolan followed Travis around a handful of apartments, watched Travis open and close drawers, knock on random walls and ask if they were load bearing.

Nolan didn’t really care for any of the apartments, even though Travis seemed to have endless opinions on each other. “I’ll sleep on it,” he told TK. The next day he called the real estate agent, bought ten acres of land on a lake. The photo is from a few weeks later when Nolan pestered Travis to come back to Winnipeg with a phony excuse for some family event.

So, the photo is from that day. After Nolan picked him up from the airport and hugged Travis within an inch of his life, he drove them out there. TK was being obnoxious the whole time, complaining about Nolan’s driving, the kid next to him on the flight who wouldn’t stop taking the armrest. Just stupid shit that Nolan was embarrassingly happy to hear again.

“Are you driving me out to the middle of nowhere on purpose.”

“Sure, Trav.”

“Are you gonna kill me, and like, hide the body where no one will ever find it.”

“That’s exactly what I was going to do.”

“Hmm,” Travis hums and Nolan is usually good at blanking his face, but Travis is here and he’s just happy. Really, stupidly happy.

Nolan’s sister raises an eyebrow in the backseat. She’s only there to take the photo, Nolan doesn’t remember asking for her judgement, too.

“Sooooo,” Travis drawls once Nolan stops the car. “Where are we?”

“Get out of the car.”

“It really feels like you’re going to axe-murder me.”

“If I promise not to axe-murder you will you get out of the car?”

“Sure, whatever.” This silences TK’s for about thirty seconds. Nolan takes his hand, pulls his towards the lake.

“We’re here,” he tells Travis proudly.

It’s over the top, the look around Travis does. He nods stupidly, mouth upturned in a goofy smile. “Ah yes,” he deadpans. “The middle of fucking nowhere, where I will be axe-murdered at the tender age of 25.”

Nolan stands his ground, let’s Travis come to him. “It’s nice, big lake. Probably some good fishing”

“Sure. Excellent fishing.”

“Not too close to any highways, I guess. But still close enough to civilization.”

“Sure.”

“Are we going to play this game, Patty? Or you going to tell me why you called me out to Manitoba to stand in a big ass field.”

“It’s ten acres.”

“Sure,” TK parrots. Nolan smirks.

“I bought it.”

“Excuse me?”

Nolan rolls his eyes, but the rest of his face is betraying him. “Don’t really want an apartment after all, I guess. Thought a house would be better.”

Travis is a little hysterical when he says, “There’s no house here, Pats.”

“Not yet. Might need your help designing one though. I don’t know shit about -” and Travis is kissing him, arms flung out around Nolan.

And when they break apart Travis pants, “You bought me a house?”

“Technically,” Nolan smiles, “I bought us land. To build a house.” And his sister hits the flash.

So, that’s the photo on Nolan’s wall: Travis beaming up at him, stuck between saying _you’re ridiculous_ and _i love you i loveyouiloveyou_. Big and sappy and everything Nolan ever wanted.

Matt’s looking at him with expectant eyes and Nolan doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there in his own head.

When Matt slaps a twenty into his hand and shrugs, “next round on me,” things go downhill quickly.

You can’t really blame him when ESPN shows the picture again thirty minutes later and Nolan texts Travis _yuo always looked good in blue. Srry about colorado._

Or maybe you can.

Because Nolan wakes up to a splitting headache settled at the base of his neck, the familiar roiling of a hangover in his stomach. His phone is, somehow, fully charged and blinking up a familiar name at Nolan. It’s probably not as bad as he thinks.

He has two texts, both from Travis.

_Please dont do this to me_

_Not after what you did._

Or maybe, it is that bad.

————

Travis’ first skate with the team is… eventful. The dressing room is chaotic enough that Nolan can avoid TK, but it’s not that big of a room. Sound travels.

Travis has always been loud.

Nolan’s lacing up his skates when he sees Matt saddle up to TK. That alone should have been a red flag.

“Travis, right? Big fan of your work,” is how Matt starts. Nolan groans internally.

TK, for what it’s worth, just looks amused. “My work?”

“Sure, sure,” Matt shrugs. “You’re the one who redesigned Patty’s apartment. Love the color scheme, good solid couch, too.”

Nolan misses Travis’ response because he’s too busy trying to suffocate himself in his jersey.

“Ah, you see, I recognized you from the photos. And the NHL network, but mostly the photos.”

Travis smirks. “Photos?”

Nolan leaves the dressing room for his emotional safety.

His second mistake (the first being ever associating with Matt) is hoping TK would drop it. Such is clearly not the case when Travis skates over to where Nolan’s resting against the boards between drills.

“So, I met Matt.” TK has never been subtle.

Nolan groans audibly.

“Nice kid.”

“He’s really not.”

TK doesn’t laugh, but — there’s a small smile there. Hesitant, fragile.

“I didn’t realize you were renting out the apartment to wayward boys.”

“I’m not renting it out. He just stayed with me for a year. He was a rookie, ya know.” Nolan is trying extremely hard to maintain his chill, but the amount of attention Travis is giving him is distressing. He’s using all the strength in his body not to skate away like a coward.

“You still live there?” It’s a question Nolan didn’t expect. But it’s fair, it was Travis’ apartment first. Nolan’s the one who gave up his apartment, moved into Travis’ forever ago.

“Not anymore. Not after that year. It didn’t feel right.”

Travis hums non committedly. He’s probably going to skate away in a second, so Nolan blurts out: “Sorry about Matt. He has a tendency to be a jackass.”

Nolan deserves the shark like grin Travis returns, calling, “he’s not the only one,” as he skates away.

————

Nolan slumped on the bathroom floor of the arena probably isn’t like, his best moment. Neither is opening twitter and searching _Travis Konecny_.

And it’s definitely true, even Bob Mckenzie is tweeting about it. August 2026: Travis Konecny, the prodigal son, returns to Philadelphia. Nolan isn’t hyperventilating.

He sees a flurry of alerts, new outlets pouring in to give their two cents. _Travis is a Flyer_ , Nolan thinks. _Travis Travis Travis_.

One article says, _Patrick and Konecny Reunited, Philadelphia’s Happy Ending to the Modern Day Carter-Richards Saga_. Nolan tries not to think about the implications of that.

(He bookmarks the tweet anyways.)

There’s a swarm of front office guys milling around the hallway when he emerges, face cooling from the water frantically splashed across his cheeks, his neck. Nolan knows how he looks. Pale. Weak. Like roadkill, basically.

He’s being pulled into the conversation, the stilted, formal words he’s grown accustomed to over his career. One of them says something like, _we weren’t going to announce it yet_. And another that _the news must have leaked_. But --

It’s official. Travis is coming back. Travis is coming home.

There’s a sickly sweet coil pushing against Nolan’s ribcage, a feeling he had almost forgotten about. It’s a heaviness pressing on his heart, a demand for attention. Nolan’s spent a lot of time in the two years since Travis has been traded thinking about this day, and now that it’s here he has no idea what to say. His mouth has run dry and his palms are sweating again.

It’s definitely rude to interrupt your head coach, but Nolan has to ask. He needs to know:

“Where is he?”

  
——————

At their second skate together, Nolan blanks and calls him Trevor.

“ _Trevor_?” TK parrots back, incredulous. “Jesus.”

Nolan doesn’t really have anything to say for himself, besides “suits you better,” just to be a dick.

And Travis laughs at him, bright and snarky, calls him _Nathan_ to piss him off for the next few days. When Nolan thinks back, that’s probably where this all started.

And later -- after Nolan’s first goal, Travis claps him on the back, says _Atta boy, Patty_ and _eat the fuck up,_ and somewhere between shoving a beer in his hand, Travis leaves his hand to rest of Nolan’s neck. Just a light touch, but he flushes brightly, gulps down the beer too fast.

He gives Travis a crooked little smile, no teeth, and Nolan knows that he’s in trouble.

It’s not even a sex thing, is the worst part. It’s one thing, Nolan reasons, to think your friend is hot and occasionally jerk off thinking about his mouth (and his hands, and his arms, and the bulk of his thighs), but it’s another crave like, his presence and shit like that. Nolan genuinely likes him, even when he’s yelling stupid things during games like _bone-head_ and _bozo_ and _oh my fucking god G you ate that bitch up_.

Nolan has feelings; it’s disgusting.

——————

Once, the summer when Nolan bought the property, Travis convinced him they should go camping together. Sleeping bags under the stars; all that romantic shit.

It was a terrible idea. Thirty minutes into laying there TK started complaining about the feel of sticks under his sleeping bag. And then he was hungry, he didn’t want to shit in the woods and accidentally get poison ivy on his dick and suffer the emotional distress. It was completely over the top; it was completely Travis.

“This was your idea,” Nolan reminds him, Travis’ head laid on the lap of his sleeping bag sulkingly.

“That’s not even important. I’m going to starve, Pats. Do you even care?”

TK was so stupid. “You were supposed to bring food, remember?”

“Ugh, whatever.”

“We’re supposed to be enjoying the lake. This is where our house is gonna be.” And yea, Nolan’s clearly soft as shit now because his heart skips a beat for just a second every time he says that. _Our house_.

“I can’t even see the lake. It’s fucking dark.”

“Sorry. Was I supposed to outline our house in candles like in Grey’s Anatomy for you?”

“You’ve seen Grey’s Anatomy?”

Nolan huffs. “Not the point, Trav.”

“It would be romantic, though.” Nolan flicks Travis in the ear

“I bought us this property. We’re stargazing together right now. Isn’t that romantic enough?”

“Well, Derek brought her the property in Grey’s Anatomy, too. So, technically you’re still behind.”

Nolan laughs, an ease deep in his chest that fills him with warmth. Travis smiles to himself, fingers running along the frays of the sleeping bag, all worn flannel and deep oak smells from hunting trips.

“Oh, so you’ve seen Grey’s anatomy?”

“Duh,” Travis says, popping a quick grin up at Nolan. “I’m cultured as fuck.”

It should be embarrassing that Travis can still make him blush after this long. But as much as Travis knows what he doesn’t like, what ticks him off and gets under his skin, Travis knows the little, often subconscious things that make Nolan’s heart slow and his breath steady. The way Travis repositions his hand from teasing the loose threads of the sleeping bag to rest on Nolan’s elbow.

Travis is silent for two minutes and about three seconds. Nolan is counting in his head and he runs his fingers along TK’s temple, through his hair.

“Or,” he proposes. Nolan snorts.

“No.”

“I haven’t even said my idea yet!”

“You’re going to say, _oh my god Patty we should get Wendy’s_ like you haven’t been angling for that all night. And then I’ll cave, and once we’re at Wendy’s you’ll say _let’s just sleep at your house instead_.”

“Was not,” Travis says belatedly, his cheeks pinking up.

“Sure, bud.”

“I was _going_ to say, let’s get Wendy’s and a hotel room and fuck so I don’t get poison ivy on my dick and have to like, cut it off or whatever.”

“Romance is alive.”

“Stop playing hard to get,” Travis whines, and okay. Nolan can handle that. He was already thinking of the best location to hit, what hotels were nice enough without being over the top or skeezy. The little grin on Travis’ mouth makes his heart flutter, just for a second.

“You’re buying,” Nolan shrugs, digging the keys out of his pocket. Travis throws his hands up, whoops a little for the effect.

——————

The summer after the trade, Carter gets married.

It’s weird, seeing his friends grow up like this. Nolan used to assume he’d marry before Carter because like, his baby face was even worse that Patty’s. And that’s saying a lot.

Travis is at the wedding, obviously. Nolan is pretending this doesn’t bother him throughout the ceremony. He’s perfectly happy to third wheel G, pretend he’s being burdened to be their babysitter. The cocktail hour afterwards is fine, too.

Sitting at the same table as Travis and his date is objectively not okay.

Claude says, “Well, this should be fun,” and leaves Nolan with his kid.

It’s karma, obviously, when Nolan finally heads to the table and the only open seat is next to TK’s date. Nolan deserves this, cosmically, but he is still going to kill Claude for the overjoyed look plastered across his face. And also probably Carter for doing this to him.

If Nolan was a religious person, he’d pray right about now. Because Travis has turned his head just so, mouth opening in a tiny ‘o’ as his hand stills on his date’s thigh. For a second, their eyes meet and it’s all too much.

Seeing Travis is too much. Nolan missed their games against Colorado for migraines and he’d watched from the press box at home, seen the flash of Travis’ name, the quickness of his hands as he skated around Claude, mimicking keep away. By the time Travis was traded again, they’d already played all their games against Tampa. Nolan was both thankful and resentful.

But now, in the heat of summer with wedding decorations everywhere, carnations and lilies and all the other flowers Nolan doesn’t know shit about, it’s all too much. Seeing Travis in the same suit from Claude’s wedding is too familiar.

He’s tan and his hair has been cut and out everything, this is what Nolan focuses on. There’s no curl of hair around his ears anymore. It’s short and neat, like from his rookie season. It’s like a collage of different versions of Travis. Nolan misses all of them.

Scott says, “So are you going to sit down or should I expect to have my view of the cake cutting blocked.”

Nolan forces himself to sit and look normal, chill. It’s hard to do when balancing a child on his lap.

“Gee thanks,” Scott snorts, oblivious to Nolan’s meltdown and flicks through his phone.

There’s 9 other people at the table and absolutely none of them are saying anything. Nolan is, to put it mildly, flailing.

TK’s date smiles at him and says, “You used to play with Trav, right?”

“Uh.”

“English, Patty,” Claude says. “Don’t teach my kid bad habits.”

“Sure.” Nolan’s voice is throat, nervous. “Played together for a few years. Uh, 7 years, I guess.”

“This isn’t an interview, Pats.” Nolan is really going to kill Claude.

“Eight,” Travis says quietly.

His date turns to him, “Huh?”

“Eight. We played eight seasons together.” Their eyes meet again and Nolan swallows, wishing he had refilled his drink before sitting down. Travis’ eyes are deep and hot, flickered with the beginning of annoyance. It’s not altogether different from his look before a fight or after Nolan had been thrown into the boards particularly hard, shoved in the head.

Raff says, “So, you think they’ll give me ranch for the salad course or was I supposed to bring my own?”

“I always bring my own ranch,” Scott answers breezily. “You just never know what you’re going to get.”

“I had ranch at my wedding,” Claude nods, proud.

“Really?”

“Yea, with the cauliflower thing.”

“Hu,” Scott hums. “I thought that was Simmer’s wedding.”

“No, he had ranch, too. I remember,” Raff says thoughtly.

Nolan is thankful for the distraction, but when he looks back TK is steadily avoiding his gaze, his brows furrowed and mouth slightly offset.

It’s the face he makes when he doesn’t want to show he’s upset.

(Nolan doesn’t know what to do with all this information he has, all the little quirks he knows about. He’ll probably die knowing TK washes apples before taking the sticker off, then again after. That he hates grapes, but loves raisins. That he’s scared of elevated trains and feels claustrophobic in airplane bathrooms, and a million other things.)

Scott and Raff are still talking about salad dressings, oblivious to the other side of the table.

“Teeksy, you like ranch?”

“No,” Nolan replies at the same time as Travis. TK’s frown deepens.

“I need fresh air,” Nolan announces suddenly.

“Speeches haven’t even started yet,” Scott protests.

“Take the kid!” Claude yells.

——————

TK is diagnosed with a concussion a week after they watch Twilight together. It’s a testament to TK’s nature that he bounces into practice the next day and jokes around with the equipment guys while everyone else gets dressed.

Nolan catches his eye when he tries to play keep away with Oskar’s tape. “Aren’t you supposed to be injured or something? I should call the store, tell them you’re defective.”

Travis grins back, a wicked flash of teeth that makes him look like a gremlin. It’s a testament to Nolan’s nature that he isn’t even phased.

“You hurt me, Nathan. You really do.”

“When are you guys going to stop staying together for the kids?” Claude intercedes. Travis throws the tape at G and finally settles back into his stall, only to begin fiddling with anything else in sight. He sighs, knocks his knee against Nolan’s.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m bored,” Travis whines. “Haven’t seen you much lately.”  
When the heat begins to rise in Nolan’s cheeks he tries to play it off with a cough. “Didn’t have to get yourself injured to spend time with me in the press box, ya know? That’s a little desperate, even for you, Teeks.”

“Man, fuck you.” Travis laughs, sweet and loud and Nolan thinks everything will be okay

——————

Carter’s wedding reception is at some type of botanical garden and Nolan doesn’t know much about flowers, but he’s hoping to have like, an epiphany while staring them down. He thinks they’re hydrangeas, maybe some marigolds or something.

He has the kid on his hip and it’s not horrible company. With the full pick of Claude’s kids, the baby is probably the safest bet. He doesn’t need an eight year old ruining his self esteem today. He’s in a fragile state.

Nolan’s wasting time, drawing patterns in the dirt with the toe of his shoe, the kid crawling through the soft grass beside him, and he’s thinking about Travis. It’s been ten months now. Ten months since the trade, since Travis stormed out of the apartment and never came back. Ten months since Nolan let him go.

The only communication they’ve had is when Nolan took over the lease formally back in September and the drunk texts after the second trade.

Nolan feels, well he feels a lot of things. He’s run the idea over and over again through his head, wondering continuously what things could have been like.

If TK never got traded, well, they’d still be together, obviously. They’d be at this wedding together and Travis would eat the icing off his slice of cake, but Nolan would have taken the onions from his salad. They’d be happy, normal.

If Nolan hadn’t broken up with him — he doesn’t know. Maybe they’d do long distance, but Nolan’s bad at calling and Travis hates being left on read. They’d probably fight over stupid things like they always do, but everything would be charged by the distance. They’d resent each other. Nolan would be living the life Travis wanted, would still be around all their friends. And Travis would have a clean slate, a chance to make a name for himself away from the team.

It seemed easier at the time. It made sense to Nolan. He had wanted so much, a deep feeling that consumed him and wrapped greedily around his heart, took up residency in his mind. He loved TK and he wanted more than anything to be with him, and thinking about the distance and the eventual resentment, the way he’d lose pieces of Travis slowly, and then all at once – it was overwhelming.

It seemed like the right decision, the logical one. He wanted to save himself the heartbreak, but Nolan isn’t so sure anymore.

He shouldn’t be surprised when Travis corners him.

Up close, Travis is as beautiful as always. Nolan’s throat is dry and his chest aches dully.

“I’m not here for an apology,” TK starts with, because he’s never been good with manners. “I need to know why, though.”

“Why?”

Travis is looking at him expectantly. It’s an icy exterior he’s wearing, mouth drawn tight and arms wrapped around themselves. It’s defensive.

“It was the right thing to do.”

“Bullshit, Nol. This isn’t some moral dilemma, it was more than that. It was a four year relationship.”

Travis is fuming, hands migrating to rub at the back of his neck. When his hair was longer, he’d run his fingers through it after particularly stressful games. Nolan always found it comforting, the steadiness of the action. Now, he wants to flee, but Travis’ eyes are pinning him in place. He’s pretty sure Travis wouldn’t be against using bodily force if Nolan tried to escape.

He doesn’t know what to tell Travis because he doesn’t know what to tell himself. He was weak, he was scared. He thought Travis would fuck off to Colorado and smash his heart into a million pieces. Instead, he did it to himself. Saved them both the time.

“I know,” he says weakly.

“I know that you know. I know you’re minimizing this. That’s why I’m so fucking mad. I can’t understand it, and you won’t help me.”

Travis brings the back of his hand roughly over his face, under his nose.

His voice sounds so broken when he pleads, “Why won’t you tell me.”

“Because,” Nolan starts. Because it was a mistake. Because he’s scared, he’s fucking terrified. Because he’s almost positive Travis is the love of his life and he’s fucked up it. Because he’s a coward.

“Because we weren’t different.”

Nolan deserves the furious look Travis shoots him, the utter anger radiating off of him in waves. Travis knows Nolan is lying, knows Nolan knows he knows.

“You’re unbelievable, Nolan. Fucking unbelievable.”

Nolan feels it, the blunt pressure of Travis’ arm brushing past him, elbowing Nolan out of his way. He’s not being gentle, but why should he be. If he was in Travis’ shoes, Nolan would hate him, too. Nolan hates himself for doing it.

Nolan arms shake a little as he readjusts G’s kid on his hip. Nolan really hopes, on top of everything, this kid doesn’t start repeating what he’s just heard. The last thing he needs is teaching his former captains kid to say fuck.

——————

The first time Travis calls Nolan his boyfriend is an accident. They’re in Travis’ bed (again) and watching Twilight (again). Nolan isn’t sure how these things keep happening.

“Can Edward even fuck if he’s a vampire?”

Nolan sputters.

“What?” Travis prods. “It was an appropriate question.”

“Sheesh, don’t think I want to know what the inappropriate questions are then.”

“I’ll show you an inappropriate question,” TK wiggles his eyebrows for punctuation.

Travis is spread out over Nolan’s body, their legs a helpless mess at the end of the bed. Travis’ hair has been periodically tickling Nolan’s neck as he moves, but it’s not altogether uncomfortable. So, really: Nolan doesn’t have a lot of ground to stand on when he says “Please do not do that again.”

“I just want to know if his dick works. Dude is old as fuck, can he even get it up? Does he have to take special vampire viagra with a special vampire viagra prescription? I’m just saying, Pats, there’s a lot to consider.”

“Oh my god,” Nolan laughs, mouth upturned without thought.

“He’s probably a shitty boyfriend. I bet even Emmitt would be better.”’

“Emmett? Don’t be ridiculous, Teeks.”

“Emmett would so be a good boyfriend and fuck you too, Nolan. You probably like Jacob, you freak. God, this is disgusting. You’re almost a worse boyfriend than Edward.”

Nolan’s mouth moves faster than his mouth when he starts: “At least Jacob can get it up -- wait, what?”

Travis is unfazed.

“So you’re into werewolf dick?”

“That’s not what we’re talking about right now,” Nolan says only a little hysterical.

“Well why not?”

“Travis, what did you mean by that?  
He huffs and repositions himself to look up at Nolan properly. This way, Travis is essentially laying directly on top of him. His face is entirely unimpressed.

“I was just joking, Nol. I don’t actually think you’re a bad boyfriend.” Which - Travis jokes a lot, but he doesn’t usually have to apologize to Nolan. It’s always in good fun. Nolan doesn’t know what this is.

“A bad boyfriend to who?”

Travis rolls his eyes, entirely unimpressed. “You’re an idiot,” Travis tells him before scooching up the last few inches to bring their lips together.

“We don’t have to be, I mean,” Travis is pink when he pulls away. It’s an uncharacteristically sheepish look on him and Nolan’s heart swells three sizes.

“You’re an idiot,” Nolan mimics, kisses him again. “Of course I want.”

“Even if I have to get a weird vampire viagra prescription?” Nolan kisses Travis to shut him up and thinks belatedly that this is something he could get used to.

——————

Nolan tries to implement good habits onto his rookie. They have a chore chart and spend their off nights cooking dinner for each other. Nolan eats a lot of overcooked chicken and probably some raw pork, but it’s about the sentiment.

He makes sure they leave on time and that Matt doesn’t stay up late bingeing on video games or alcohol when they have early practices or flights. Nolan shows him the best coffee shops, the street to avoid during school hours, the best place for sushi take out late at night.

It’s startling. TK was always better at things like this. He would buddy up to the rookies or any of the guys bouncing between Philly and Allentown and know exactly what to say at the right time. Even when he wasn’t perfect, he was there. Nolan is trying to emulate that, but it’s always harder than it looks with TK. As hard as he tries, Nolan doesn’t think he’ll ever be as good as Travis is. It came so easily to him; the hockey, the friendships, the ability to walk in a room full pulled taut in the wake of a crushing loss and have people start to laugh, to have even the roughest guys thaw out.

Nolan isn’t good with making friends. He likes to keep to himself and it was always so easy to follow TK’s lead. Once people liked Travis, they generally accepted Nolan, too.

It’s an adjustment going from living with TK to Matt. It’s not that Matt’s a bad roommate, but Nolan had grown accustomed to a certain level of comfort in the past four years. He’ll find himself wandering into the kitchen in just his underwear before questioning whether or not that’s appropriate, or automatically beginning to flip through the channels when a commercial break starts (because TK hates the lull and repetition of commercials), or always sitting on the left side of the couch because TK liked being able to see the TV and also watch the traffic on the street below.

“Dude,” Matt had said a month into living together. “You don’t have to wedge yourself all the way over there. It’s your house. I don’t wanna invade your space”

Nolan was learning to live without Travis and it hurt in the most mundane, domestic ways.

On their anniversary Nolan lays himself out on the couch and let’s Matt take control of the remote with No hockey as the only instruction. Nolan’s pretty sure he’d cry or drink himself to sleep or both if he had to see Travis right now.

They watch the end of Scarface while Nolan polishes off another beer. He’s sulking, but his rookie has the decency not to mention it. When Twilight starts up next, Nolan walks out of the room.

His rookie yells “are you throwing up, dude?” through the bedroom door and Nolan tries to steady his breathing.

“No,” Nolan croaks lamely. “Go watch your movie.”

He doesn’t text Travis that night, but it’s close. He can hear the echo of Talladega Nights from the TV speakers, and he curls up like that and falls asleep.

————————

It’s not Nolan’s fault. Really, he promises.

At the end of the night the heat had licked up his spine, and he’s sweated through the back of his shirt and he’s on drink number 5 or 6 or, he doesn’t know. The bartender likes him, keeps giving him sample of different signature drinks he’s trying out.

Travis is a steady presence along the perimeter of his vision. He danced a few times with his date and Nolan’s blood had boiled, his throat had closed up. That used to be his place, he used to be the one with his arm around Travis’ waist, humoring him by letting him lead.

He gave up possession of G’s kid at drink number two and begged out of the photo booth with Scott and Raffs at least forty minutes ago. It’s not like Nolan’s been drinking alone, but when the rest of the guys from Team Canada he’d been chilling head off to smoke cigars Nolan suddenly finds himself alone and scanning the dance floor.

It’s almost second nature how quickly he can find TK. He doesn’t know where Travis’s date has gone, maybe the bathroom or the bar, it doesn’t matter. Nolan’s feet are moving before his brain and suddenly he’s reaching out, big hand wrapped around Travis’ wrist and just tugging him off the dance floor.

If he’s being honest, Nolan knows what he’s doing. He has intent when he weaves them through the crowd and pulls Travis behind the green house, pushes him against the glass. Nolan’s mouth is hard and hot against Travis’, but his lips are so soft he feels dizzy. Pressed up against Travis, Nolan feels something shift back into place. It feels big. It feels like coming home.

Travis is kissing back, and he’s not sure what he expected, but Nolan is going to think about this forever. The prickliness of Travis’ stubble against his cheek, the tantalizing way Travis is gripping his hips. It’s so good, everything he’s been wanting for the last ten months and at the same time it’s too much. Travis pulls away first, panting.

Nolan says, “I love you. I love you. I love you,” like it’s a prayer. It feels like everything is coming together, like nothing else in the world could possibly make sense.

Travis pushes back on Nolan’s shoulders. His cheeks are flushed and his lips bitten red. Nolan wants to never let him go, wants to drop to his knees, wants to hold on forever. He wants Travis any way he’ll have him.

“Nolan.” Travis’ voice is stretched tight.

“I love you,” Nolan says silently, begs it to be enough.

But it wasn’t enough before, not with Travis’ bags packed and a ticket to Denver booked. Not with four and a half steady years behind them. Nolan really wants it to be enough now.

“Trav,” he pleads softly.

“I don’t – I can’t– Nolan, god.”

“I love you.”

“Stop fucking saying that, I can’t think. You said that last time. And nothing has changed. I can’t put myself through this again.” Travis’ eyes are shut, his hands moving from being twisted in Nolan’s collar to smoothing down the front of his button up.

There’s nothing for Nolan to say, not really. Travis isn’t wrong, but he wants so badly he thinks it might kill him to never have Travis this close again, to make him smile up at him like nothing else matters. In the heat of Travis’ body and the fog of the alcohol, everything feels a mile a minute.

Nolan is searching his eyes, big and bright under the moonlight. “I–” he begins, but there’s no appropriate ending.

Travis rests his hand lightly around the back of Nolan’s neck, a mirror of the first time. The feelings growing inside Nolan are so big. They consume every aspect of him, as if all the cells of his body are lit up, attuned to Travis and Travis alone. Loving Travis has always come without a second thought, something as simple and true as death and taxes. Losing that was like losing a part of himself, and Nolan knows there’s more to say, but the pulp of desire is clawing hungrily at his heart and demanding _more more more._

“It hurts so much,” Nolan settles on. “I didn’t think it would hurt this much.”

The noise Travis makes in response is deep, wounded in tone.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Nolan says, jerks his hand outwards. “This was supposed to be us.”

Travis pulls away abruptly at that and his face closes off so suddenly Nolan is dizzy with it. “Nolan, I’m not doing this.”

It feels childish to retort _why_ not but there is nothing else Nolan wants to say.

“You don’t know what you want,” Travis sighs. “You only want me now, because I’m here with someone else.”

“That’s not true,” Nolan whines, his voice so small and whiny he can barely recognize use himself. He feels 18 years old all over again. “I love you.”

“Fuck, Nolan. It’s not about love, you have to know that.” Travis’ eyes are pleading, willing Nolan to let him go. If he pushed harder, Travis would probably lose his resolve. But Nolan doesn’t want it, not like this.

“I should go then,” he hears himself say.

Travis nods, let’s Nolan back away, pitch himself back towards the table.

——————————

28 is definitely too old to have a crush. Especially when it’s on your former best friend who also happens to be your ex boyfriend. Nolan really doesn’t want to talk about it.

It’s getting pathetic. At practice, Nolan will catch TK’s eyes for a second and a light blush will creep up his neck like he’s 19 all over again. They don’t talk, not really, but they aren’t avoiding each other at least.

Nolan really wants to come up with an excuse to talk to Travis. He thinks about it almost obsessively those first few weeks of the pre-season. But then it’s October and they aren’t even playing on a line together, so there’s no real need to interact extensively, but Nolan still wants.

At first, he comes up with stupid reasons. They’re all embarrassingly transparent. Nolan will ask if Travis has seen Claude recently (obviously), if he found a new apartment (clearly), how Lawson is doing (probably Nolan’s lowest point). Travis is a good sport about it. He always answers, polite and cordial and nothing like what Nolan wants.

Then, out of nowhere, it comes to him.

“So,” Nolan starts. He’s tucked himself into the booth next to Travis. They’re at a bar with the team, somewhere new and crunchy. Lots of rustic decor that Nolan can’t figure out if it’s ironic or not.

“Hi.” Travis’ smile is wobbly, the beer in his hand almost empty.

“I have a box of yours still. From -” Nolan really needs to shut up. Or like, end himself right now. “Uh, from before.”

“Oh, right.”

Travis is steadily avoiding his gaze.

“Do you want it back? I can bring it to practice or your new apartment. You could come by, if you want. Instead. Uh,” Nolan’s foot is literally in his mouth. If he wasn’t in the middle of a mini crisis it would probably be funny how the roles have reversed. How Nolan’s the one who can’t shut up, with Travis breezy and silent at his side.

“Did you look in the box?” Which okay, that wasn’t the question.

“No?”

“Okay, that… that makes sense, I guess.” Travis is picking the label of his bottle, a nervous tick still hanging on almost a decade later. Nolan is very confused.

“Just bring it to the rink next practice,” Travis says, wedging himself out of the booth. He drops some bills on the table and refuses to meet Nolan’s eye. “Don’t worry about it.”

——————

Nolan worries about the box.

He paces the length of his apartment and thinks of the least embarrassing person to talk about this with. Provy would probably tell him to just look in the box, which is rude. Kevin would probably tell him to burn it, because Haysey has the emotional capacity of a 16 year old boy still.

There aren’t a ton of guys still on the team from back then. It’s really only him and Ghost and Scott. Carter only left a few months ago, but Nolan would rather die than ask Carter Hart for advice on his love life.

It’s a predicament. He never had a best friend like TK did with Lawson, that person to call and say whatever he wanted to. His person like that was Travis, and he can’t exactly speak to him about this now can he?

Nolan doesn’t call anyone and he doesn’t open the box. He gets on the stationary bike until it feels as if his lungs will collapse and crawls into bed, sweaty and wrung out.

————————

Nolan’s resolve lasts one day.

They beat the Caps and him and TK were on a line together again and it felt so fucking good, so natural to propel himself against TK after a goal and hear Travis shout _fucking right, Patty_ and _whatta beauty_. It feels even better when Nolan scores five minutes later on the powerplay and Travis is the one shoving him in the side, infectious grin filling the line of sight through his visor.

He goes out with the team and it’s not the same as it used to be, but it’s still good. Ghost plays pool with him until even Scott thinks it’s overkill.

“I thought after two fucking years you’d be at least a little better,” Ghost laughs and swats TK playfully. Nolan’s not jealous, but it’s like they have this weird floridian bond now. Like they’ve killed an alligator together and did a blood oath over an orange tree. It’s both endearing and disturbing.

Nolan says, “another game can’t hurt,” and reaches for Ghost’s abandoned cue stick. Travis grins back, toothy and genuine, and Nolan leans forward, lets the balls break and focuses on breathing.

It’s not till he comes home, bleary eyed and a little drunk, that he remembers the box.

“Oof, shit” he says to his empty apartment and sits down next to it.

“It’s just a box,” he tells himself. Of TK’s stuff, that he purposely never returned but also never looked at.

Nolan cracks a gatorade, says fuck it, and pulls the tape off the sides.

———————

“I did something stupid,” Nolan says over the phone the next morning.

“I told you not to drink tequila anymore like six years ago,’ Claude replies.

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Just figured you did something embarrassing while drunk. Sorry, continue on.”

“I think I did something really stupid.” Nolan is maybe freaking out if the way he’s pacing the length of his apartment is anything to go off of.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Claude says earnestly.

—————————

It is that bad.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Claude says first. Then: “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Nolan winces.

“I didn’t know,” he nearly yells. “You have to believe me, Claude. I had no idea!”

“That makes more sense, looking back.”

Nolan is freaking out. The box is kicked hastily in the corner with a blanket thrown over it.

“You knew?”

Claude’s voice is not nearly as frantic as Nolan’s anymore.

“Breathe, Pats. Yes, I knew. Travis told me about it at the end of that season.”

“I think I’m dying,” Nolan says.

“You’re not dying.”

“I’m such a fucking imbecile.”

“I think you need to talk to Teeks, buddy.”

—————————

Nolan’s crisis is cut short or expedited by practice.

He texts Matt _drive me to practice_ and tries to eat his breakfast without throwing up. Nolan doesn’t remember the car ride there and opts to let Matt discuss whatever NFL news is pissing him off this week. He says something about the Ravens and Nolan blocks everything else out.

When he sees TK already on the ice, Nolan gives himself a pep talk. Which basically consists of telling himself _don’t be a fucking clown_ until his skates are laced and his jersey’s on and he’s gliding across the ice mechanically.

“I need a ride home,” he says offhandedly to TK as they head back to the locker room. Nolan tries to use his trained media voice, but the arch or Travis’ eyebrows indicates it hasn’t gone to plan. “Can I ride with you.”

“Sure.”

—————————

December in Philadelphia isn’t the same as winter in Winnipeg, but Nolan has adapted over the years. Travis curses the cold briefly, and Nolan wonders if the year and a half in Tampa really did make him a transplant Floridian.

“Don’t you dare say anything,” TK warns when he catches Nolan watching.

It’s not a long ride and the pressure inside Nolan has been building since last night, so it’s unsurprising he opens his mouth as soon as Travis makes it two lights away.

“I’m sorry,” is what Nolan blurts out.

“You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

“I think I made a huge mistake.” Travis swallows. “I know I made a huge mistake,” Nolan amends.

G and Simmer used to joke that they shared a brain, and in the silence of Travis’ front seat Nolan hopes they were right. He’s not being explicit, but Travis has to know what he’s saying. He needs Travis to know

“So, you looked,” Travis says, more to himself than Nolan.

“When did you-”

A wounded noise springs from Travis’ throat, his chest, his heart.

“Pats, c’mon.”

If he isn’t brave now, Nolan knows he will never get the chance to be brave like this again.

“Trav, when did you get it?”

Travis is looking straight ahead and Nolan thinks his gaze could pierce glass.

“You want to talk about this now?”

Nolan nods, lets them ride in silence on the way home.

—————————

They make it two steps inside Nolan’s apartment before he nearly shouts, “Were you ever going to tell me you bought me an engagement ring?”

Travis remarkably stands his ground. His shoulders fall slightly, his lip twitches.

“Obviously.”

“When?”

Travis’ face is pinched, but Nolan’s come this far already. He can’t drop it now. “Travis?”

Travis’ voice is soft, pleading when he says, “That doesn’t matter.”

“Trav,” Nolan repeats.

“When do you think, Nol? The day you broke up with me, dumbass.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

—————————

Travis orders Chinese food while Nolan escapes to the bathroom. The box is shoved incriminatingly in under the sink and Nolan sighs as he settles himself on the tile next to it.

At first, all Nolan saw was stupid stuff like old hotel key cards from road trips, and some post cards from Lawson. There was even a puck or two. And then Nolan was holding print-outs of house listings, actual houses with yards and fences and HOA fees. And Travis had highlighted different things and scribbled notes of things like _no pool_ and _bad school zone_ and _near high way, too loud for nolan._

And there was more. The copy of Nolan’s old spare apartment key, the ornaments they both made at a team event, a handwritten recipe card from Nolan’s grandmother.

And inside, an even smaller box. Slick and black and simple.

Nolan felt like his world was ending.

He jumps when TK rasps on the door and announces in a low tone, “food’s on its way.”

—————————

Nolan is trying to reevaluate his life. Because Travis bought him an engagement ring. Travis was going to propose and was looking at four bedroom houses and school zones and Nolan broke up with him before he got the chance.

Nolan’s heart is working overtime.

“Can you say something?” TK asks.

“I didn’t think you would have done that,” is what Nolan settles with. “I didn’t know. Did you think I knew?”

“Maybe.” TK sighs as he rakes his fingers through his hair, long again and distracting to Nolan. “For a long time I thought you had known. I was so fucking pissed at you for it.”

“And then?” Nolan cautions.

“And then, at Hartsy’s wedding. I don’t know, Nol. You seemed so helpless and you were saying things about how it should have been us getting married. What else was I supposed to think?”

Travis pauses, continues. “But after that it was different. I was asking Claude about you all the time, and he knew, you know? And eventually I just let it go.”

Nolan says, “I thought it would be easier. I thought if I broke up with you, it wouldn’t hurt as bad. I didn’t want you to go off to Colorado and never come back.”

“Nolan -”

“No just, god. Travis, I’ve spent the past two years thinking about that day over and over again. I was so scared. I didn’t want us to be like those guys who say they’ll make it work and end up hating each other. I didn’t want to resent you, to have you stop caring about me.”

“Nol-”

“I wanted you so much I thought it would kill me. And then you left and I was okay. Really, I was fine. We were both fine without each other, but I still loved you. I still missed you.”

“What are you saying, Nolan?”

“I’m saying I know I can live without you, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to live in the same city as you and act like strangers. I loved you the whole time you were here and all the whole time you were gone and now you’re back and I’m saying I love you. Because if I don’t I’ll never forgive myself. And that -”

Travis surges up quickly and kisses Nolan, hot and fast. Just for a second.

“Trav?”

“Do you know how hard it was to let you keep talking?” Travis is smiling softly, his hand resting on the base of Nolan’s neck.

“What’s happening?”

“You’re so stupid,” Travis says.

“I know this is a first, but I really need you to say something or I might die.”

“Nolan?”

“Huh?”

Travis grins, “I love you, too.”

“Oh.”

“And I’m not saying let’s get married right now or anything. But I missed you too, I loved you too. I hated Colorado. The altitude sucked and Mackinnon isn’t nearly as funny as you.”

“You think I’m funny?”

Travis rolls his eyes. “I missed Philly and I missed the team, but I missed you most. Even when I thought I hated you, I never really stopped loving you.”

Nolan doesn’t know what to say; he kisses TK again

—————————

In Nolan’s bed they eat their Chinese food and Travis sprawls across the duvet.

“I forgot how much room such a small person can take up,” Nolan snorts.

“You talk a big game for someone who kept a framed photo of us in his bedroom after we broke up.”

Nolan’s cheeks heat. “I regret letting you meet Matt.”

“I found out a lot about you from him.”

He’s wary when he asks, “Like?”

“You listened to a lot of Miley Cyrus.”

“Lies.”

“Particularly, Party in the USA. That’s my favorite song. Did you know that?”

“No,” Nolan lies.

“Also that you hate the movie Twilight.”

Nolan groans.

“And that you built a hunting shed at your house in Winnipeg, but haven’t gone hunting in a few years.”

Nolan buries his face in his hands, prays for a lightning bolt to shoot TK down.

“And also that you love me,” Travis finishes with.

Nolan pokes his head up. “He did not say that.”

“It was implied.”

“It’s true, though.”

“That you hate Twilight? I always suspected it.”

“That I built a hunting shed. It’s for you.” Nolan looks at TK, tired of hiding. “A lot of people have told me that if I love something, let it go. And that if it comes back, it’s meant to be.”

“Are you saying we’re like, fated to be together?”

“I’m saying,” Nolan teases, “That I wanted you to come back.”

“That’s pretty soft, Nol.”

He loses the rest of the afternoon in bed, caught up by the sight of TK beside him, against him, simply with him.

—————————

“The first time,” Travis says over his glass of champagne, “that I knew I loved Nolan was after a random day of practice. We were, at least I thought, getting to be good friends.”

Nolan groans audibly from beside him. “You always have to tell this story.”

TK pauses, mouth suspended open in a dopey smile. “And I’m thinking I’m going to go up to him, ask him to lunch. And he calls me Trevor.”

Nolan looks at him dramatically.

“And it worked, didn’t it?”

Travis is caught for a second, lost in the moment around them. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“This is going to be unbearable,” Claude interrupts. “But a toast to the old married couple.”

Nolan raises his glass, finds Travis looking back at him steady and sure.

“You really had to tell that story, huh?” Nolan quips, hand resting on Travis’ wrist.

“It’s my favorite story.”

“At our _wedding_?”

Travis smiles back, flushed and pleased.


End file.
